Thick, black smoke clawed at the sky over Karachi’s industrial zone last week, a sight that has become all too familiar in Pakistan’s bustling economic heart. But this time, as flames devoured a storage facility packed with truck and car tires, something remarkable unfolded amid the chaos. Rushing into the fray was Syeda Masooma Zaidi, a 23-year-old firefighter, helmet strapped tight, hose in hand, her eyes set with determination. She was not just battling fire—she was challenging the very traditions of her country.
The fire, fueled by stacks of rubber, sent plumes twisting skyward, turning the air heavy and acrid. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, stinging the eyes and lungs of those who dared approach. Zaidi, the only woman among her all-male firefighting team, did not hesitate. According to the Associated Press, she and her colleagues worked methodically, every movement measured and every second critical as they aimed jets of water at the molten rubber. Hours later, the blaze was finally under control. No lives were lost, and the nearby factories—vital cogs in Karachi’s industrial machine—were spared. The damage, though, was significant, running into tens of thousands of dollars, or millions of Pakistani rupees.
When the firefighters emerged from the smoke, faces streaked with soot, they were greeted by cheers from dozens of onlookers who had gathered behind safety lines. It was a rare moment of public recognition in a country where, until quite recently, women firefighters were virtually unheard of. As reported by the Associated Press, Zaidi’s presence on the front lines marks a significant shift in Pakistan’s emergency services, a field long dominated by men in this staunchly patriarchal, traditional Islamic nation.
Zaidi’s journey is emblematic of the slow but steady progress women are making in Pakistan’s emergency services. She is part of a new generation inspired by trailblazers like Shazia Perveen, who became the country’s first woman firefighter in 2010 in eastern Punjab province and now serves as a trainer. In Sindh province, where Karachi is the capital, women only began joining firefighting services in 2024, after receiving training in Punjab. Despite these advances, women still make up less than 1% of Pakistan’s firefighters, but officials anticipate that number will grow in the coming years, especially in a country of over 255 million people.
Zaidi herself trained at the Punjab Rescue Service Academy, mastering high-angle rescues—operations that require ladders, ropes, and trolleys to save victims trapped in skyscrapers and industrial towers, as well as a range of fire and water emergencies. According to Dr. Abid Jalaluddin Shaikh, chief of the Sindh Emergency Service, Zaidi is one of about 50 women firefighters in the province. Another 180 women are currently in training as rescue divers, ambulance medics, and emergency responders. “The focus is no longer on breaking taboos,” Dr. Shaikh told the Associated Press. “Now we see real results.”
Yet, the path for these women is far from easy. Zaidi recounts that skepticism is a frequent companion on her missions. “When we arrive, people say, ‘She’s a girl—how can she rescue anyone?’” she shared with the Associated Press. “Every time we save a life, we prove that women can also do this job.” Her words reflect the daily reality of pushing against the boundaries of expectation, proving, again and again, that capability knows no gender.
Zaidi’s colleague, Areeba Taj, who is also 23, has vivid memories of missions where she and other women responded amid chaos and smoke, saving lives and earning respect with every successful operation. Their supervisor, Ayesha Farooq, highlighted the unique strengths women bring to the field, particularly when victims include women and children. “By joining rescue services, they earn respect—for themselves, and for the country,” Farooq told the Associated Press.
The support from within the ranks has been notable. Zaidi’s chief fire officer, Humayun Khan, has publicly praised her and her female colleagues for their dedication and skill. Such endorsements are vital in a profession where camaraderie and trust can mean the difference between life and death.
Zaidi’s motivation, she says, comes down to courage, duty, and faith. Growing up with seven brothers and one sister, she learned early on the importance of standing up for herself and others. “People still doubt us,” she said. “But every time we go out there, we keep proving them wrong.”
For most Pakistani women, professional careers often mean becoming doctors, engineers, or teachers—paths considered more traditional and secure. Zaidi, however, wanted to show that “we can do this too.” Her determination is echoed by the growing number of women stepping into roles as first responders, challenging societal assumptions with every shift they work.
The cultural context cannot be ignored. Pakistan’s society, while evolving, remains deeply traditional in many respects. Women’s participation in physically demanding and dangerous professions is still met with resistance, both subtle and overt. But the tide is turning, slowly but surely. The increasing visibility of women like Zaidi and her colleagues is helping to reshape public perceptions, inspiring younger generations to consider careers once deemed off-limits.
Looking ahead, authorities in Sindh and beyond are optimistic. With more women entering training programs and the government signaling support for greater gender diversity in emergency services, the hope is that stories like Zaidi’s will become less of an exception and more of the norm. As Dr. Shaikh noted, the emphasis is now on results—on lives saved, property protected, and communities served.
As the skyline above Karachi’s industrial zone cleared in the aftermath of last week’s fire, Zaidi and her team returned to their station, ready for whatever alarm might sound next. For them, each day brings new challenges, but also new opportunities to prove that bravery, skill, and dedication are not defined by gender.
In a country of 255 million, where tradition often dictates opportunity, the sight of a woman in a firefighter’s uniform—helmet gleaming, face streaked with soot—stands as a powerful symbol of change. And as Zaidi and her fellow pioneers continue to show, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply show up, again and again, until the world sees you for what you are: a firefighter, ready for the next call.
